by Andi Osho
‘Everything alright, hun?’ Simi asked as they entered Old Street tube station.
‘Yeah,’ replied Jemima forcing a smile. ‘I was just thinking about my date – and my book.’
‘Ah, don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be brilliant,’ said Simi tapping her Oyster card on the reader.
‘Yeah,’ replied Jemima hoping she was right.
Jemima paced the Kings Place lobby, unable to shake the ambivalence clouding her. Yes, she had been looking forward to this evening but she couldn’t ignore her anxiety – like she was losing control. She decided to focus her mind on Xandria Bishop and the reading of her award-gobbling hit novel. Just as she was relaxing into that thought, she spotted Chance making his way through the crowd. As his eyes searched the room, she automatically smiled. Just like on the plane, he had an ease around people making them instantly warm to him.
Finally he spotted Jemima and made his way over, his smile brightening at the sight of her.
Jemima’s cheeks practically burst into flames with pleasure and awkwardness in equal measure.
‘Hello, you,’ he said hovering for a moment.
If he was contemplating a kiss, that was a no-no. Why? Because this was not a date, Jemima told herself. Tomorrow night with Lance – that was a date. Tonight, Simi and Steve, Meagan and Bruno, those were both dates but this, here with Chance, was not. And if she didn’t let him know that from the off, one minute you’re air-kissing in a Kings Place lobby and the next, you’re living together – what? Why did her brain keep making these insane leaps?
‘Hello, you!’ She smiled, thrusting out her hand.
Chance stopped, looked down at it and without missing a beat, took Jemima’s hand in his.
Her breath shortened as she became aware of his soft skin, his palms big and spongy.
What was he doing and why was she rooted to the spot looking into his eyes?
‘I’m looking forward to this. I think it’s gonna be pretty special,’ he said.
Jemima pulled her hand out of his clasp.
‘Me too. Drink?’ she babbled, searching for the bar or an exit, whichever was nearest.
Chance smiled. ‘Sure.’
Jemima watched as a barefooted Xandria very deliberately closed her book, made prayer hands and bowed to the assembled audience. The applause was immediate and rapturous. Jemima looked around her. Had they all been listening to the same reading? Not one review mentioned that The Cave was a hodgepodge of incoherent ramblings, puffed-up prose and wildly implausible dialogue. Jemima flinched as the woman beside her leapt to her feet, wiping tears from her eyes, her standing ovation threatening to infect the entire room. Jemima wanted to cry too but her tears were in mourning for the four hours of her life she’d just lost. She gawped as, one by one, people around her began standing until she could no longer see the stage. Jemima looked at Chance for assurance but he too was standing, clapping along with everyone else! She knew this had been a bad idea. Granted he was easy on the eye, but even the cult leader Charles Manson was a looker in his youth. And fine, he was pleasant to chat with but they were clearly on different pages if he enjoyed what they’d just been subjected to. She snuck another look at him. Yep, he was still flapping his hands together like an aqua park sea lion. But worse, Jemima had a growing awareness that her being seated was becoming conspicuous. With nowhere to hide, she forced herself out of her seat and begrudgingly applauded. Her petty act of rebellion was to do it so lazily it was essentially a slow hand clap. After what felt like an age, the applause subsided and the assembled audience made their way out of the auditorium. Still in a daze, Jemima followed Chance out of Kings Place. As they emerged onto the street, Jemima stole yet another look at him. After his response to The Cave, his love of Beverly Blake’s escapades didn’t feel quite so flattering.
‘Well,’ said Jemima, ‘That was…’
‘Shit,’ said Chance checking to see he was out of earshot of other attendees.
‘Oh, thank God!’ Jemima laughed, clutching her chest in relief.
‘Yeah, it was awful,’ said Chance. ‘Never heard anything like it.’
‘But you were clapping?’ Jemima wailed.
‘Coz I thought you loved it. I heard you crying.’
‘That was the woman beside me!’
Laughter rippled through them as they realised they’d hated the reading as much as each other.
‘God, what was that line she kept using?’ Chance giggled, clicking his fingers.
‘And so it begins,’ Jemima droned, mimicking Xandria’s monotone voice, her impersonation sending them into more peals of laughter.
As they recounted their favourite pompous passages, Jemima wiped tears from her eyes. Clearly their highbrow captivity had made them hysterical, she thought, as she rested a hand on his shoulder. It felt good – solid. Was this allowed on a non-date night she wondered before pulling her hand away.
‘Man, I am soooo sorry. I thought that was going to be helpful but I’ve probably set your writing back a month!’ Chance shuddered.
‘Don’t be silly. I’m glad I came. I’ve been putting off reading The Cave, building it up as this insanely brilliant masterpiece so it’s good to see Xandria is a mere mortal too.’
‘She seems demonic, putting us through that,’ said Chance puffing his cheeks.
Their giggles slowly ebbed away and they continued their stroll through St Pancras Square, Jemima keeping a platonic distance apart. This was nice. Just strolling. Admittedly, it always felt nice, just being with Chance. Jemima felt very… present, by his side.
‘Is that a swing?’ he said pointing across the square to a giant birdcage installation.
Before Jemima could reply, Chance had already run over. He pulled back the swing seat and beckoned her to follow.
‘I’m good,’ she called.
‘Come on,’ encouraged Chance, ‘it’ll be fun.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Jemima.
Chance let go of the swing and walked back to her.
It’s not that she had a problem with swings. They seemed to give kids hours of pendulous fun. But if there was something that would make tonight feel like a date, surely Chance pushing her on a swing in the middle of Kings Cross on a wintery evening, was it – it had Richard Curtis rom-com written all over it and that wouldn’t do – because this was not a date. This was two friends, discussing a novel set in the depths of a reproductive system. Nothing more, nothing less. Chance pushed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head holding her in his gaze. Jemima looked down at her watch, drawing a slow breath. ‘I’m going to head off.’
‘No worries. I’ll walk you to the tube,’ said Chance.
‘I’m fine,’ said Jemima. ‘Thanks for tonight. It was very… informative.’
She turned and headed towards the station feeling his eyes on her. She quickened her pace.
Chapter 19
Simi
Simi stared at the breadsticks in the middle of the table cursing herself for choosing today to start her low-carb diet. She glanced at her watch. Steve was twenty-four minutes late and with each passing moment, her discomfort grew. The thought of being stood up for dinner was horrific but even sitting alone in a restaurant was excruciating. Flying solo might be fine for Jemima but Simi hated it. Even tonight, Jemima was off on her own, to some book reading. For Simi, however, the idea of doing that made her shudder. She was grateful for mobile phones. At least then she didn’t have to sit here looking like a complete Charlie Chumless, she thought, as she fired off a third text update to Meagan who was also on her date.
Wow! She smiled. Just two days, nineteen hours and forty-seven minutes ago, they were scoping out guys in Bar Dodgem and now here she was, on her date – almost. Meagan was out with her German hottie and tomorrow night even Jemima would dip her toe in the dating pool. It was too perfect, well it would be, the moment Steve showed up. Just as the wait was becoming unbearable and Simi was considering having a fake phone conversation, Steve arri
ved. Simi watched the maître d’ lead him over. Should she kiss him and if so, would he be a one or two kiss type of guy? Perhaps he was a no-kiss-at-all man. Perhaps, a hug was more appropriate, she panicked as he approached. But a hug or worse, a handshake like they were meeting to discuss a business loan wasn’t what Simi wanted. She wanted lurve.
‘Hello! Apols for being late!’ said Steve giving Simi a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Apols, Simi recited in her head, immediately warming to him.
‘No worries. You’re a bus driver. I’d expect you to be a bit late – then three of you to turn up at once.’
‘Why’s that?’ Steve asked tucking in his chair.
‘Well because…’ A long way away an imaginary klaxon droned. ‘Never mind.’
Simi ignored the warning sounds and quickly picked up her menu.
As she browsed the list of dishes her eyes lit up. She loved Fez. The romantic snugs, the ornate North African design, the to-die-for food and friendly staff made it a great first-date destination.
‘So,’ said Steve.
‘So,’ said Simi trying to contain her nervous excitement.
She looked at him dreamily. They were on a real world, this-is-not-a-drill date. Meanwhile, across the table, Steve’s head was buried in his menu. Occasionally he’d emit a deep hmmmm.
‘’Scuse me, what’s “Meeeeez”?’ he asked a passing waitress.
She looked at him confused, leaning over his menu.
‘Oh, meze. Small dishes to share.’ She smiled before moving off.
Simi bit her lip then pretended to peruse the mezes… even though she knew them by heart. After a while, she peeked over the top of her faux-leather menu to steal a glance at Steve. He was handsome, his face generous and uncomplicated. Simi noted the tight curls of his deep brown hair which had a little too much product on it, his clean-shaven face and mismatched shirt and tie. He’d obviously made the time to go home and change before meeting her and she appreciated it.
‘So, what made you want to become a bus driver?’ Simi asked breaking the silence.
Steve considered the question.
‘I dunno really.’ He smiled before returning to his menu. ‘Right, think I know what I want.’
He waved over their waiter.
‘I will have,’ he began, while taking a final look through the entire menu for the tenth time, ‘omelette and chips, thank you.’
Simi blinked, her mouth opening and closing as the waiter wrote down Steve’s order.
‘And for the lady?’
‘Ummm.’
Her eyes darted around the menu. Who orders an omelette at a Moroccan grill other than… a vegetarian! Simi gasped. If that was the case, the last thing he’d want is to watch her gnaw through skewered carcass.
‘I’ll have – the same, thank you. No chips!’
The waiter collected up their menus and disappeared.
‘Can’t be doing with all that spice,’ Steve said once the waiter was out of earshot, ‘They didn’t have steak, so I thought, omelette’s a safe bet.’
So, he wasn’t a vegetarian, just a man with the palate of a 3-year-old. Simi tried to push down her disappointment and instead, reminded herself that tonight was about being with someone she wouldn’t normally choose, an opportunity to get to know somebody different. It was also a chance to experiment with those boundaries Jemima and Meagan kept going on about, which, if she were honest, she still didn’t completely understand.
‘Of course, I didn’t always want to be a bus driver,’ Steve said wistfully into the conversation vacuum.
Ah ha. Earlier he’d probably felt cautious about sharing his innermost feelings but now he was finally opening up, Simi concluded. She rested her elbow on the table and perched her chin on her hand. It already felt more romantic.
‘When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut,’ he said proudly.
Simi’s smile congealed. She herself had lofty career aspirations and whilst she didn’t want to dampen anyone else’s dreams, astronaut was surely an ambition from a galaxy far, far away.
‘Not like a normal astronaut. Imagine a fleet of space shuttles that go back and forth to the moon. I’d want to drive one of them shuttles.’ He nodded snapping a breadstick in three and putting it in his mouth sideways.
So, a space bus driver, Simi groaned inwardly as she watched him chipmunk through his breadsticks.
After a quiet eternity, other than the sound of Steve munching, their food came. Simi gave the waiter an apologetic smile and picked up her cutlery with a sad whimper. World food was her passion. She cooked and consumed everything from Japanese to Jamaican, African to Asian. Coming to a four-stars-in-Time-Out restaurant to eat egg and chips kind of broke her heart. And she couldn’t even have the bloody chips! She watched her date plough through his meal like a mastiff excavating a bowl of Pedigree Chum.
‘What do you think of the omelette?’ Simi said, attempting to interrupt him.
Then again, why ruin a perfectly good meal with conversation, Simi mused as she stared at the top of his head, his plate already half empty. Simi had an uncle who refused to converse over dinner claiming it gave him wind. She wondered if that was the problem as Steve cupped his hand to his mouth in a feeble attempt to conceal a burp. Nope, Simi huffed.
It was time for a radical change in policy. She wasn’t going to let Steve vacuuming up his food ruin the evening. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening, he just wasn’t talking and that was something she could work with. And so, for the rest of the meal she regaled him with her life story. She spoke, uninterrupted, about how she’d become an actor. About her first job, an horrific show called C-Section! The Musical. She even told him about her fateful audition with Antonia De Silva. And, credit where it was due, though he wasn’t a great talker, largely due to his mouth never being empty, he was a good listener. He nodded and laughed, with a full mouth, in all the right places, seeming genuinely interested. Not as interested as he was in his plate of food but Simi was no longer expecting miracles. Maybe this night wasn’t a write-off after all. What was the point of having two chatterboxes in a relationship? She needed to stop looking for perfection and start living in the moment, just being with what was right in front of her. Sure, he was no Keanu Reeves but all you needed was a spark to start a fire. She tilted her head and smiled. He smiled back, burped into his cupped hand and licked his knife.
‘Finished.’ He grinned.
Chapter 20
Meagan
Good luck with Bruno. Eeeek! Steve’s not here. Panic stallions! Sim xox
Meagan stared at Simi’s text. What the hell were panic stallions?
Bloody autocorrect! *stations!
Oh, he’s here!!!! Wooooo! Sim xox
‘’Scuse me,’ said the barman holding the card reader out for Meagan.
‘Right, sorry,’ she said tapping her card.
She grabbed her cocktails then sashayed through the hotel lobby to re-join Bruno. Hotels were a real turn-on for Meagan so in choosing this as their meeting place, Bruno had made an excellent start. Hotel sex was one of Meagan’s favourite things. In fact, she would suggest it to Todd next time they sexted. But then she groaned, remembered Simi’s stupid rule. No Todd allowed. Oh, how things had changed. It wasn’t easy to find a lover that fitted like he did, a lock and key. Her only hope was that her absence would calm his affections sufficiently that, once this game was over, they could get back to what they did best, straight-up shagging. In the meantime, Bruno was easy on the eye even if he was a little grating on the ear.
‘Nice hotel. You stay here often?’ Meagan asked as she set down their drinks.
‘Hmmf,’ sniffed Bruno leaning back in his leather single seater. ‘No, it’s just near my gym.’
They were only two rounds into the date and as delectable as Bruno was, Meagan’s patience with that grunt of his was thinning. Since they’d arrived, she’d given a good account of herself. She’d been witty, intelligent and looked incredible, o
pting, tonight, for a low-cut top, tailored slacks and of course, a fabulous, black heel. Her look said, I’m a professional woman who happens to have a great rack. And on arrival his opening play had been strong, just the right dose of chivalry and compliments but what Meagan couldn’t stand was how he punctuated almost every sentence with a sniff. How had Jemima not spotted this?
Meagan noticed the dull glow of her phone from inside her handbag. Without a break in conversation she reached in and tilted the screen towards her. It was Todd. Oh for the simplicity of a quick fumble with him right now. If she’d seen him tonight, she’d already be back home in her slanket watching Scandal reruns. Meagan smiled tightly at Bruno, trying to focus on the positives. He was tall which, to Meagan, was the hottest thing in the world. She’d once dated a guy who she towered over when in her heels. She felt like Godzilla looking down on the tiny people of New York City. Never again. When Meagan and Bruno had air-kissed upon first meeting, she’d also noticed his deliciously expensive cologne. This was another deal-breaker. A long, long time ago, Meagan had dated a man whose aftershave smelt like fly spray. At the end of dinner, she’d half-expected to see dead bluebottles at their feet. Bruno, however, smelt good, looked good, had good hair, good shoes and she could tell, under that fitted shirt, had a great body. However, the one thing that was not good at all was his nasal fluid management.